


I want it to be me

by EliaAlice



Category: The Good Doctor (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, I'm running with the idea that Morgan is still not even out to herself, Morgan's POV, Pre-Relationship, anyway spite is a great motivation can you tell, how to make me write a fic when I really don't have time for that: piss me off a ridiculous amount, me; cracking me knuckles: let me rub my little gay hands all over your show and storylines, the writers: spend their time insisting that they have dated only MEN and are interested in MEN only, this is my take on the end of 3x09 in this context
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:26:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21653710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EliaAlice/pseuds/EliaAlice
Summary: Morgan watches Melendez follow Claire out of the room, unnoticed as she just entered it, and realizes it bothers her she wasn't the one to go after Claire even though she can't quite understand why.She still decides to wait for Claire in the locker room, to make sure she's okay.
Relationships: Claire Browne/Morgan Reznick
Comments: 7
Kudos: 98





	I want it to be me

**Author's Note:**

> I started this the day after I watched 3x09 because I'm real tired of the writers attempting to scream "THEY ARE STRAIGHT" at my face when Morgan has been looking at Claire with nothing but heart eyes since the beginning of the season, and also because I was expecting Morgan to be among the people Claire looks at before she exits the room at the end of the episode. Anyway, my original plan was to rewrite the end with the concept of Morgan being the one to follow Claire out of the room, but the characters all have a mind of their own so this happened instead (I won't lie, I like it better).  
> Also, I absolutely wanted to post this before the mid-season finale airs so I just wrote 2200 words in one sitting and edited the entire thing right afterwards, which means I apologize in advance if I missed some things. Did I mention it's 2:30 am where I live and I should have done something else entirely with my evening?

Morgan is almost done for the day when she enters the main lobby again, fully intending to be heading to the locker room a few minutes later. She just needs to quickly check a former patient’s file first because the latest study she read reminded her of a detail in one of her recent cases that she can’t quite put her finger on at the moment, and it’s been nagging at her brain for hours now and she’d rather settle the matter before she loses sleep trying to rack her memory all night long.

She forgets all about it instantly about three steps in, though, when she looks up just in time to see a woman slapping Claire hard and Claire subsequently almost running out of the room in the direction opposite Morgan. Shock makes her stop in her tracks as she wonders what just happened and who the woman even is; by the time she thinks of following Claire to help her in any way she can, Melendez has already beaten her to it.

It makes an uncomfortable feeling settle behind Morgan’s ribs. She’s not sure why, she understands why the idea of not being the one to comfort Claire bothers her so much even less, but the burning weight in her chest is well and truly there and she has no idea how to make it go away.

She should have been the one to go after Claire. She’s the only one who knows what’s been going on with her lately, the only one Claire has been willing to open up to at least a little, and Morgan doesn’t like the thought of losing that specific connection at all.

She realizes that she’s been rooted to the same spot for too long when she catches Alex looking at her oddly, and she hurries right back out of the room with all thoughts about why she entered it in the first place completely gone from her mind. She just knows that she needs to be alone to think for a while.

The hot swirling feeling in her chest doesn’t go away.

* * *

She ends up waiting for Claire in the locker room after she’s done changing. The thought of going home without knowing what happened exactly and if she’s okay just doesn’t sit right with Morgan at all, even though she’d told herself after her latest attempt to get Claire to listen to her at the bar that she was done uselessly trying to insert herself into the situation for the time being.

(She never could figure out why she started to care about Claire and her well-being so much, she’s not even sure she can pinpoint when it happened; she just knows that it did somehow.)

She ends up waiting for a solid fifteen minutes before Claire pushes the door open, obviously red-eyed from too much crying, and freezes upon seeing Morgan there.

“You know, at some point I’m really going to think you’re stalking me”, Claire points out, glaring at Morgan before she starts moving again and pushes past her in a clear move of annoyance.

“I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“I don’t think the conclusion will be hard to draw”, Claire mutters, “but it’s also none of your business and I’d appreciate it if you could just leave me alone.”

“You do realize that pushing everyone away is the opposite of what getting help to deal with your grief looks like, right?” Morgan insists for what feels like the millionth time, desperate to stop Claire from slipping away into destructive behaviors any further than she already has.

“What makes you think you’re the one I’d want to come to for help anyway?” Claire retorts, dismissive, and the words strike Morgan a lot harder than she thought they would.

She thinks of Melendez going after Claire earlier, of the time it took for Claire to arrive in the locker room, and the burning sensation in her chest comes back in full force at the same time as she suddenly realizes its name.

Jealousy.

What she’s feeling right now is jealousy.

It’s not an emotion she’s used to, which explains why it took her so long to place it, and her first thought is that it’s not in any way her place to feel jealous about anything regarding Claire. After all, they’re only colleagues – Morgan wouldn’t even really dare call them friends, although at times it seems they tentatively are –, so why is she jealous?

She only notices that she’s stayed silent for too long when Claire turns her head to look at her with confusion.

An answer. She needs to make up an answer right now; to find something to say, no matter what it is, before it starts to become obvious that Claire’s words had an impact on her. Morgan has never liked letting anyone see her weaknesses; because she knows how easily weaknesses can be used, certainly – although she doubts Claire would ever do that, even in the state she’s been in lately –, but also more simply out of pure stubborn pride.

“Fine”, she says, a little too quickly, “you don’t want my help. You don’t want to listen to me either, I guess we did establish that a while ago, so how about some company instead? I was about to go out for drinks anyway, and given your latest track record, I’m guessing you’re heading to a bar as well.”

She was definitely not about to go out for drinks. She was very much looking forward to a relaxing evening on her own, reading or doing some yoga, and yet… And yet, she doesn’t like the idea of leaving Claire like that – of leaving Claire’s side right now, period.

Even though she had told herself that she was done trying to get through to her after that night at the bar when Claire dismissed her for the umpteenth time. Even though she’s not quite sure what pushes her to be so protective of Claire lately in the first place.

She settles for once more giving herself the same excuse she’s been using since she learned about Breeze’s death: focusing on Claire’s problems allows her not to think about her own diagnosis of arthritis too much. After all, she’s come to care about her colleague with time, and it’s a good distraction.

There’s nothing more to it. It’s just a good distraction.

(Or so she tells herself, over and over again.)

Claire stares at her in disbelief at the idea that she was already planning to go out for drinks, and Morgan holds her gaze without wavering as she defends her lie.

“I have a life outside of the office, you know”, she says. “And _I_ have never been a saint.”

She doesn’t add “unlike you”, but she’s pretty sure Claire can hear it hanging in the air anyway.

There’s a long moment of tense silence as Claire gets a pocket mirror out of her bag and attempts to wipe as many traces of her breakdown as she can, starting with the redness around her eyes, and Morgan watches her closely the entire time.

“So, what? Rough day?” Claire eventually asks, her tone wary.

Morgan wonders if there’s a good way to summarize “as usual, I’ve had to hide that I have arthritis and that it’s causing me constant background pain these days”, “I may or may not have told a lie to my patient’s husband because I didn’t cheat on my boyfriend with another man that time I got drunk, but with a _woman_ and I’ve _never_ told that to anyone ever”, “this entire case is forcing me to reconsider things I thought I had buried and put behind me a long time ago”, and “not being the one to get to comfort you has made me jealous and I have zero clue why” – but if there is indeed a good way to summarize all of that… she really can’t find it. And she’d never admit to _any_ of the items on her mental list anyway.

So she ends up settling for a much simpler: “That’s one way to put it.” And then adds: “I’m the one who should be asking that question, though.”

Claire sighs exasperatedly, although it comes off more tired than anything else. “Let it go. Seriously.”

“I’m not talking about… everything”, Morgan replies, shaking her head and waving a hand around in an all-encompassing gesture. “I meant I saw that woman slapping you.”

Claire visibly tenses up, hands freezing on their way to the sink to splash water on her face. “It’s nothing”, she tries to pretend, but her suddenly shaky voice gives her away.

“It’s clearly not”, Morgan replies, so softly it’s hardly more than a whisper.

Time seems to stand still for a few seconds, before Claire suddenly whirls around and takes a few steps to come stand right in front of Morgan. There’s a challenge dancing in her eyes, a hint of desperation too, and her words are spat out more than said when they finally make it past her lips.

“She’s my patient’s wife – patient who also happens to be the guy who woke up in my bed this morning. I’m letting you fill in the blanks.”

Morgan pushes down her shock as soon as it emerges. That’s what’s Claire is looking for, what reaction she’s aiming to get, and she won’t give her the satisfaction of playing her twisted game. Instead, she raises her eyebrows and opts for a different approach.

“My, my, how the mighty have fallen”, she says almost casually. “You’re a long way from Saint Claire.”

She gets narrowed eyes in response.

“Are you ever going to stop with that nickname?”

Despite how twitchy Morgan gets, for some reason, from having Claire so close in her space, she forces herself not to take a step back. She doesn’t want to be the one to do so.

“I mean, I guess I’ll have to, considering what you’ve decided to turn into”, she answers with a shrug. “Or rather _who_.”

Claire cocks her head to the side, clearly confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Morgan rolls her eyes. “It means you’re currently acting like your _mom_ used to, just in case you haven’t noticed.”

The way Claire almost flinches at the words suddenly make Morgan realize that, actually, maybe she _truly_ hadn’t made the connection yet. Maybe she didn’t _want_ to analyze her behavior for long enough to draw the proper conclusion.

“I didn’t— I’m not—” Claire tries to protest weakly.

Morgan cuts her off sternly. “Denying it is not going to work with _me_ , you should know that by now. Don’t waste your time.”

Instead of replying, Claire takes a step back then turns around – thus not noticing the way Morgan’s body instinctively relaxes the second they are not inches away from each other anymore –, and starts pacing in the small space of the locker room, hands messily running over her face and pushing strands of hair away every five seconds. Morgan stays silent, waiting for Claire to find a conclusion to her inner turmoil and desperately wishing she could do something, _anything_ to help her through this other than pushing her to face her bullshit and forcing her to see things she doesn’t want to.

(If only Claire wasn’t so stubborn and admitted to needing help in the first place, she could at least be comforting her, instead of basically making Claire hate her for a good cause.)

(She doesn’t know why the mere thought of Claire disliking her forever hurts so much, but it does. In the same strange way that remembering Melendez going after Claire half an hour ago makes jealousy spike in her with enough force to be painful.)

After a minute or so, Claire faces Morgan again, though she stays at the other end of the room this time.

“So what if I’m acting like my mom?” she asks, voice breaking and more lost than Morgan has ever seen her. “What then, huh? Then I guess it means it’s been inside of me all along. Maybe I was just always too blinded by my never-ending optimism to see myself for who I really am.”

Morgan itches to reach out, wipe away the tear that has started making its way down Claire’s cheek and wrap her arms around her to shield her from the outside world that has never been as kind to her as she always deserved, but the idea of Claire moving away from her if she dared do any of that keeps her from surging forward more surely than chains ever could.

“No”, she whispers instead. “It’s not who you are. Nobody who’s been striving to do good all their life wakes up one day to find out they got a personality reboot. You _are_ good, Claire. Annoyingly so, sometimes, even, if you want my opinion”, she adds, deadpan, getting a response in the form of the startled strangled laugh she was aiming for by saying this. “Everyone has a dark, ugly side of themselves. Everyone can fall into the trap of listening to their most fucked-up, twisted ideas. It doesn’t mean it’s who you _are_ , though it can be who you become if you stubbornly refuse to fight it. It means you’re _human_. And _I_ shouldn’t be the one telling _you_ that, but being good – being the best version of yourself you can be – is not easy. But isn’t it worth it?”

Claire looks away and shrugs, more tears running down her cheeks now as she hastily tries to wipe them, so Morgan crosses most of the distance between them until she can catch her eye again.

“Tell you what”, she says decidedly. “If you can assure me you truly feel better acting how you do now than how you did before and mean it, I’ll back off forever. Deal?”

Claire doesn’t answer immediately, sniffling quietly, until she finally says: “I don’t think getting out for drinks is a good idea after all.”

Taken aback by the sudden change of topic, Morgan is the one who lets out a surprised laugh this time.

“Yeah, maybe not”, she admits, looking at Claire’s tear-strained cheeks. “I still don’t think you should be alone right now.”

“I don’t want to go back to my apartment”, Claire admits with a small voice as she averts her eyes, all fight having drained from her, leaving her open and vulnerable in a way that makes Morgan’s heart ache. “When I left this morning, he—”

She stops abruptly, not clarifying who she’s talking about, but Morgan has enough clues by now to piece it all together. Claire would see the ghost of the man who woke up in her bed this morning, her _patient_ whose wife _slapped her_ , all over her bedroom all night long if she slept there.

“Want to come to my place?” she asks before her brain can catch up with her mouth. “I have a nice stack of alcohol”, she adds immediately to justify herself. “And hey, I won’t even call you out for having fucked-up coping mechanisms, just this once.”

Claire attempts to glare at her, though without much success.

“How nice.”

“Someone has to do it, you know”, Morgan replies, suddenly self-conscious about coming _so_ close to admitting how much she really cares all of a sudden. “And I’m the only one who knows the truth about what’s been going on with you – well, maybe Melendez too, now, but—”

Claire cuts her off at that. “Melendez?!”

Morgan shrugs dismissively, hiding the feeling of jealousy she can’t make sense of behind a carefully constructed façade. “Well, since he went after you earlier, I guess—”

“I’m going to stop you right here – he’s my boss”, Claire almost scoffs. “Yeah, he saw me bawl my eyes out for ten good minutes in silence and is probably really confused right now, but the last person I want to tell about how I had a one-night-stand with yet another married man to cope with my mother’s death is my _boss_.”

Morgan ignores the totally improper sense of relief washing over her in favor of finishing her train of thought. “Alright, well – I’m the only one who knows what you’re going through and you’re decent enough of an actress than no one has questioned your recent switch in behavior yet, so if I don’t confront you about how you’re dealing – or rather, _avoiding_ to deal –, who will?” She looks away for a second, collects herself, and tells Claire part of the truth about why she’s been trying to make her get her shit together since she learned about Breeze’s death. “I just can’t watch you self-destruct without doing anything to stop that from happening. I’m only ever trying to help – I hope you know that.”

Claire nods, barely moving her head, but doesn’t reply anything. She fishes her car keys out of her bag instead, and hands them to Morgan.

“Can you bring my car right next to the side exit? I’d rather no one else sees me like… well”, she trails off, not needing to continue for them both to know what she means.

Morgan smiles a little, grabbing the keys as soon as Claire hands them to her. “Give me ten minutes”, she simply promises.

She squeezes Claire’s shoulder on her way out, unable to stop herself, and is surprised to find Claire leaning into her touch rather than away.

* * *

They end up making a pit stop at Claire’s apartment anyway so she can gather her pajamas, toothbrush, clothes to wear the next day and other much-needed items, and it means that Morgan gets her first look at the place since she never set foot in it before.

She tries not to stare too much, just cataloguing elements to analyze later, but she does come to a stop when she mindlessly follows Claire into her bedroom and catches sight of the picture on the bedside table.

They both look so… carefree, and happy, and Morgan really doesn’t know why her ribcage feels too small for her heart all of a sudden, but she does know that she stares at the picture for way longer than she should. She didn’t even know someone snapped a photo of that moment, has absolutely no clue who did, but she’s glad it exists into the world and even more so that it ended up on Claire’s bedside table. It feels right, somehow.

She smiles a little without realizing it, and Claire calls her out on it when she emerges from the bathroom. “What?”

Morgan startles, looks away from the picture, and blurts: “It’s a nice picture.” Immediately followed by: “I miss seeing you smile.”

Oh, god. She really needs to learn to shut up around Claire today, especially since she has no idea where that remark even came from – she just suddenly realizes that it’s true. She does miss seeing that smile.

Claire rolls her eyes, wholly unimpressed. “Yeah, yeah, sure. Now stop staring at a stupid picture and get my bag from the dresser, that’ll be more useful.”

Morgan refrains from pointing out that Claire must think the picture is everything but stupid if she has it on her bedside table and obediently does as she’s asked instead, all the while wondering who she can bribe to get the name of the person who took that picture so she can print a copy for her own apartment.

It never occurs to her to wonder why she’d even want to do that in the first place.

* * *

They end up on Morgan’s couch, glasses of alcohol in hand and a Netflix selection screen in front of them. Claire looks at her curiously, so Morgan feels the need to justify herself.

“You made it pretty clear you don’t particularly want to talk about you, I never want to talk about me, so this seemed like the best option. Unless staring off into the distance next to each other in silence sounds like an appealing idea to you, but it really doesn’t to me.”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

“Don’t you know by now that I’m hardly ever wrong?” Morgan grins, tuning up the cockiness on purpose and smiling ever wider when Claire shoves her unceremoniously. “I’ll even grant you control of the remote, IF you promise not to put on anything sad. Do we have a deal?”

“Okay, who is this nice person next to me and what has she done with Morgan Reznick?” Claire replies without missing a beat.

“Or I can just choose myself”, Morgan shoots right back, pretending to be offended.

“Not a chance”, Claire retorts, snatching the remote out of her hands. “I don’t want to discover what your taste in movies actually looks like. Somehow, I really doubt we have the same.”

Morgan stares at her in sudden horror, realizing she may not have thought this plan through well enough. “If you pull up a rom-com, I swear I’ll go switch off the TV entirely.”

“You said ‘nothing sad’!”

“Fine. Nothing that’ll make me gag either, then.”

Claire rolls her eyes, but has the decency to pull up a movie that _isn’t_ a rom-com. “Shut up and drink.”

Morgan does just that.

* * *

Claire passes out halfway through the movie, helped by a subtle mix of exhaustion and alcohol, and rearranges herself on the couch until she finds what must surely be a comfortable position – namely, with her head on Morgan’s shoulder.

It feels strange, but it also feels right in a very weird way that Morgan doesn’t want to think about too much right now. She carries on watching the movie till the end, gripped by the plot, and only lets herself consider what she’s going to do with Claire once the credits roll. She doesn’t move for a while longer, resisting the urge to run her hand through the end of Claire’s curls, and finally extracts herself as smoothly as she can once she starts feeling like an absolute creep for even thinking about it. She goes to get a pillow and a blanket, using them both to tuck Claire in as best as she can on the couch with much more care than she’d ever admit to, then takes one last look at the woman sleeping in front of her before heading to her own bedroom to try to get some sleep.

They didn’t talk, Claire didn’t even admit to needing help yet, but this evening still feels like the very first step in the right direction somehow.

**Author's Note:**

> You have a right to tell me this feels a little bit unfinished - I agree, but I'm still tagging the fic as complete because I'm not sure I'll have time to write a follow-up chapter even though I want to. I had also started another fic from Morgan's POV like a month ago but I never had time to actually write the entire thing - though if I do, I might make this a series and post it as a part 1 because it would fit quite well.  
> Also, if you figured out which ship I absolutely can't stand, yeah, well, I didn't try very hard to hide it. Anyway. I'm done rambling now.  
> (Just like last time, feel free to come chat with me on twitter @EliaAliceRaven. Let's all be clowns together at this point amirite)


End file.
